Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
by JennaBennett
Summary: It's the ten year anniversary of Stress Relief and all the love floating around Twitter over the past couple of days got me thinking – what if the fire "drill" at the beginning of the episode had taken place in Season 3 instead. Set sometime between The Merger and Phyllis' Wedding.


It's the ten year anniversary of _Stress Relief_ and all the love floating around Twitter over the past couple of days got me thinking – what if the fire "drill" at the beginning of the episode had taken place in Season 3 instead. Set sometime between _The Merger_ and _Phyllis' Wedding_.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from my collection of _The Office_ inspired t-shirts and a gift voucher from winning a _The Office_ themed trivia night (which may just be the highlight of my life to date). Any lines of recognisable dialogue are adapted from the show. The title is a John Mayer song.

SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING ROOM

Since Jim has returned from Stamford the monotony of the office has increased tenfold. It's because he has his back to _her_ , but he doesn't like to admit that, even to himself. Most days, he busies himself by looking at Karen and tries to ignore the inadequacies – Karen, with her dare he say _too_ focussed work ethic misses most of his attempts at connection. Those moments that characterise his day to day at Dunder Mifflin, mostly it's the pointed eye contact when one of their colleagues does something questionable. _She_ never did – _she_ would always catch his eye, a wide smile stretching her cheeks, eyes glowing with unshed laughter. He can't think about that now; the wound is still too jagged and raw. So, he does the only thing he can and keeps his back to her. Still, despite his determination to ignore her, he finds that he has to stop himself from spinning around and looking at her at least once every seventeen seconds, but for the most part he's been able to catch himself.

All this energy that he put into not looking at her is the reason he is the first to see the smoke. Dwight is rambling about smelling something smoky, which means that Jim flicks his eyes to him first and bites back a retort. He quickly realises that Dwight's not wrong – it is smoky. Over Dwight's shoulder he catches it, a dark cloud of smoke billowing ominously beyond Karen's desk.

Jim's jerky movement catches _her_ attention. Before he thinks it through he's on his feet, kicking his chair back. All eyes swing to him. But Pam is the only one watching him from behind, so she's the only one who sees it from his perspective and zeroes in on the smoke.

It's barely a second before he senses that she's on her feet too. "Oh my god. Ah. Oh my god." Her voice trembles as she points and the entire office registers the smoke and begins to panic. He doesn't hear the other voices, he catches words like _fire_ and _smoke_ and the general undercurrent of fear, but it's only when she speaks again that he actually hears it: "the phones are dead." It's telling that in the midst of terror, hers is the only voice he hears with clarity. He tries to push it down, but it's a feeble attempt in the face of actual danger.

He springs to action, everybody is moving and for a second he's caught in the chaos. Michael is frantically screaming for everyone to stay calm as he lunges for the door.

"Touch the handle. If it's hot there could be a fire in the hallway," Dwight is shouting orders into the crowd.

Michael latches onto the handle, "what does warm mean?"

There is a collective groan and another, "oh my god," from Pam. The entire office has crowded around the door and Jim is hit with the realisation that Pam has moved from behind the reception desk and is now peering out from beside him to watch Michael's attempts to exit. "Try a different door," she orders and he feels the puff of breath against his shoulder as she speaks. It should frustrate him that he can't turn off his awareness of her no matter how hard he tries, but right now he's grateful to know that she's nearby. He doesn't let himself linger too long as to why that is – why she's the only person in the office that he needs to know is safe.

The group scatters. Oscar grabs at the next closest door. "My hand! That's hot!"

"This one's hot too!" Andy shrieks.

That's it. All their exits.

The collective panic spirals out of control. "We're trapped! Everyone for himself!" Michael is the voice of reason, as always, he muses dryly. Jim would laugh in any other circumstances. It's maybe been a minute or two tops, since this whole ordeal has started and they've already disintegrated into complete insanity. He would expect nothing less from this particular collection of colleagues. Oscar is climbing into the ceiling. Angela has pulled a cat out of somewhere? "Save Bandit!" screeches through the room as she flings the poor creature into the gap into the ceiling that Oscar has opened up. It crashes back down into the mayhem moments later.

He needs to formulate a plan.

Pam is still beside him. "What do we do?" she murmurs, alarm coloring her words.

"Use the surge of fear and adrenaline to sharpen your decision-making," and as much as he wants to disregard anything that Dwight says in this moment – well, he's not completely wrong.

Jim's decision making is decidedly sharpened by his absolute terror at burning to death in this building and he feels, more than consciously instructs, his hand to slip between them and tangle Pam's tiny fingers with his own. He squeezes gently. "Okay, we are not dying here."

As the words escape from his lips, he is struck with a memory. It's last year and he's on a boat. Captain Jack is waxing poetic about his first wife. His own words echo through his memories – _I would save the receptionist_. _If my office building were on fire, I would save the receptionist_. Here he is. His office building is on fire and despite everything: her rejection, his own agony and all these months of hurt. _All_ he cares about is saving the receptionist.

It spurs on a new determination. He allows himself to do something he hasn't really done since he got back from Stamford, he looks Pam directly in the eyes. He repeats his earlier statement, punctuating each word. "We. Are. Not. Dying. Here." It's a promise. It's a plea. Her eyes are wide and she sucks in a sharp intake of breath.

"Jim," she whispers. His other hand has a mind of its own and is rising to caress her cheek. Her eyes flicker shut. His finger is trailing along her jaw. He can literally hear the chemistry. It's like fireworks are exploding in his mind. How could she have said that they were just friends last year? –

Andy screams. "The fire is shooting at us!" and the sharp pops cutting through the air are real, and not just fireworks going off in Jim's head because he's letting himself touch Pam again and she hasn't pulled away. _Yet_ , the cynical, wounded part of his brain hisses.

It doesn't matter if she loves him back anymore. All that matters is that he saves the receptionist. It's his one absolute truth. He allows himself one last look, he feels like all the masks he's been wearing since his return from Stamford are down and he lets her really see. He hopes it communicates enough, because the next second, he's with Andy, tugging the copy machine from the wall and driving it into the door with all his strength. He needs to get her out of here.

Just as he pulls back for a second attempt, Dwight is blasting an airhorn. "Attention everyone! Employees of Dunder Mifflin! This has been a test of our emergency preparedness. There is no fire. It was only a simulation."

Jim feels all the air leave his lungs. "What?"

Dwight is continuing, "fire not real. This was merely a training exercise."

Oscar falls from the ceiling.

Jim finds himself reaching for Pam again.

Stanley falls to the floor.

Jim is fumbling for Pam's hand as he gapes at Dwight.

Michael is bumbling about over Stanley.

Jim strides over to pull Michael away.

Pam is reaching for the phone.

Stanley takes precedence over everything in that moment. The fire department smash through the door to give the paramedics access. Dwight has evidently broken off keys in all the major exits, an admission he gives with a shrug when Jim stresses the need to get Stanley out of the building.

It isn't until Jim's standing in the parking lot watching the flashing lights from the ambulance carrying Stanley disappear that he remembers _Karen_. He can't picture her anywhere in the mess that unfolded upstairs. The fog in his mind dissipates somewhat and there's a flash of memory, her hand on his shoulder as she left for a sales call. Pam's clipped farewell as she passed by the reception desk. Karen wasn't in the building. But instead of relief, he's met with an ebbing of guilt. She wasn't in the building and he didn't even notice.

He notices now. Pam is lingering by the door, watching the spot Stanley's ambulance vacated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes dart to the spot usually occupied by Karen's car and he watches as a wave of sadness flashes through them. He really has been working so hard not to pay attention to her lately that he's pretty sure he's been missing some things. She's tired. She's miserable. He can read it now.

He steps towards her, because he can't not now.

 _I would save the receptionist_. His mind is chanting it over and over again. He needs her to know. He's feeling brave. Or stupid. Maybe an excess of adrenaline is still coursing through his veins.

It's seems she's feeling the same way. When he gets to her, she looks him squarely in the eye. "I want to say something." He nods. His tongue is tied into a million knots. "Since you came back from Stamford we're not even friends and that sucks. I miss you." He's blinking back tears because this is her letting him down again, of course it is. It's the friends talk.

He wants to walk away, he feels himself crumbling. He rocks backwards. She reaches out. This time she's the one tangling her fingers with his, like a lifeline. Her words rush out and he almost misses them, bracing himself for another rejection. "There were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding. But the truth is, I didn't care about those reasons until I met you. Jim, I called off my wedding because of you and now you're with someone else… which is whatever… but for a second up there I didn't know if we were ever going to make it out and I just needed you to hear it once I guess."

His eyes are still pierced with tears, but he's looking at her like she hangs the stars and maybe she does. His expression has slipped from agony to awe. She's everything. He wants to kiss her. He really wants to kiss her again. _I called off my wedding because of you_ and he's never heard anything better. He's forgotten what happiness feels like, but he's pretty sure this is it.

Her eyes are dancing, but then there's a flash of worry and she squeezes his hand before gently pulling away. Her gaze flashes over his shoulder. He can hear tires on gravel as a car pulls into the lot. Her tone has dropped to a whisper, "you haven't really come back from Stamford, but I wish you would." She distances herself slightly and reaches back to push the elevator button. He's momentarily confused, but a door slams in the carpark and he glances behind him to register Karen striding in their direction. Pam disappears into the elevator and he braces himself against what's to come.

There's no preamble and Karen is understandably furious. He hasn't been very fair to her and he tries to find it within himself to feel guilty. There's a pulsating undercurrent of joy flowing through him which makes it near impossible. Karen doesn't even make it back into the office. She demands he tell Michael that she's sick and she's back into her car after a matter of minutes.

As Jim rises through the floors in the elevator moments later, he feels the weight that's been sitting heavy on his shoulder for months drifting away beneath him.

He gives Ryan twenty bucks for his old desk.

He slides back into his old seat with a contented sigh.

He meets her eyes almost immediately.

There is a sparkle in them that he hasn't seen – ever.

After five minutes of essentially unabashedly staring at her, he formulates a plan.

Jim darts into Michael's office. "Can Pam and I take our lunch now to go and buy a card for Stanley?" Michael launches into something, he cuts him off with a cool, "thanks."

He knows that Pam has heard him because she's already securing her coat. She hold his out to him and he murmurs his thanks, making sure to brush her fingers with his as he takes it from her. Anticipation bubbles deliciously in his gut. He hasn't felt this hopeful in years, not since the very first day he met her, before he'd registered the engagement ring on her finger that dosed all his daydreams with icy water. In the hallway, as they wait for the elevator, he straightens the collar of her coat, letting his fingers dance along her collarbone. She blushes furiously.

During the descent, he crowds a little too close, leaning against the back of the elevator, her shoulder warm, steady and achingly familiar against his. His frame fills her tiny blue Yaris and he allows his hand to dip into her hair and twist a curl between his fingers as she drives. It's every bit as silky as he's always imagined it to be. He doesn't think any of his fantasies will disappoint when it comes to Pam.

They don't really talk, she's doing a very good job of appearing to be steadfastly focussed on the road before her. As the browse the aisles of cards, he pulls a with deepest sympathy number from the racks and attempts a terrible joke to tell her that yes, he did just definitely dump Karen. It wouldn't be perceptible to anyone else, but he sees how her smile widens. He says, "there were a lot of reasons to call off my relationship, but the truth is I only thought about you," and she's gaping at him, her eyes bright with joy.

They find the get well soon section and he's formulating something to say about how Dwight is an absolute lunatic, but then his mind goes blank because she'd cradling his face in her hands. He barely has a second to process before she's kissing him and the pile of cards in his hands are crashing to floor. It's everything that it was last year and so much more. His hands are in her hair and then around her waist and somehow everywhere. There's a whisper of smoke in how she tastes and it strikes him – the receptionist has saved him.


End file.
